Shadow on the Moon

by Connie Flynn

  "Then give me back my damned clothes and I'll hike down myself!"

  Morgan slammed his fist on the table and rose so abruptly he sent his chair clattering backwards. Dana flinched, more from surprise than fear.

  "You'll leave when I'm ready to take you, Dana! Accept that!"

  He whirled and stormed into his forbidden bedroom. Fenris darted after him. The door slammed shut. A few seconds later Dana heard a second slam.

  Every memory of the previous night returned. Small things, like the colorful hieroglyphics on the sheep. Large things, like the vicious fangs of her attacker. And with the memories came confusion. How could she deny what she'd seen with her own eyes? Those creatures quarreling over her shivering bones weren't men. Things evil and monstrous lived in that canyon, and she wanted to get as far away from them as possible.

  Morgan must be aware of what went on down there. Surely he'd heard the Indians' music at night. Or was his so loud it drowned out all the other sound?

  Even as these thoughts raced through her head, other ones popped up as well. By now Morgan must know this place scared her out of her wits, yet he'd walked out on her anyway.

  She sank onto the daybed, furious about the tears streaming down her face. What did she expect? People left when you made them angry. She'd learned that lesson early in life. Hadn't her mother left after Dana broke her favorite bowl? If her own mother would leave over something so small, why would Morgan stick around?

  Even Dad had sent her to boarding school. For her own good, so she'd become socialized—or so he’d said, adding that he thought she spent far too much time with wolves. But she always suspected he'd offered her as a sacrifice to get Mother to return.

  Then there was Ron. He'd asked her to marry him during her second year at Berkeley, had wooed and seduced her into intimacy, then run off in the night with Cynthia Shaffer.

  She continued with this line of thinking for quite a while, until her sobs eventually subsided. As they did, she began rationalizing. Of course Mother hadn't left over a broken bowl. She just couldn't stand the isolation of the wilderness anymore. Her father had only wanted to give her a better education than he could provide with home schooling. She'd had nothing in common with Ron anyway. And Morgan?

  Well, he'd merely gone for a walk to cool off. He'd soon be back.

  Her sorrow vanished in a sudden flash of realization. She hadn't heard the lock engage after Morgan had stalked into his bedroom. Had he forgotten about it?

  Fear returned. Dark, formless fear. Whatever she felt about Morgan, she couldn't remain on this mountain. Escape might be in her grasp. All she had to do was check to see if the door was locked.

  She walked cautiously to the door, pressed her ear against it, and listened for a sound, any sound at all. Hearing nothing, she tentatively turned the knob.

  * * *

  Morgan stood at the edge of the canyon, watching his dogs leap on one another and roll in the snow. After a while, he turned his gaze toward the west and took in the rocky path that led straight to the scene of last night's horror.

  From this high place, the fire pit looked vaguely like a stale doughnut carelessly tossed on the rocky ground, and the bright morning sun made the black stones seem like tasteful statuary.

  Above it all, the setting moon hung like a decorative plate, barely visible against the bleached sky. It looked palely beautiful and harmless, but Morgan knew its power.

  Fenris nudged his hand, begging for attention. After staying inside only two nights, he was becoming a regular house pet. Still, it wasn't so bad, and Morgan gave him an absent-minded pat before gazing back at the fading moon.

  Venus, misty planet of love, would join it in the fifth house, which also governed love, on the following night. He smiled wryly. The Morgan Wilder of yesteryear would have labeled this momentous event as utter gibberish. Movements of faraway planets had nothing to do with anything.

  But now, in the underworld where he dwelled, he knew astrology played a major role in a person's life. Lily couldn't have cursed him without the blessings of malevolent Pluto. Since then, he'd educated himself, had studied planetary influences, pored over his birth chart, learned that his own planets' positions had aided Lily.

  Now they would aid him. But only if he won Dana's love.

  Was he meant to love her, too? The Book didn't say, and somehow he doubted it. How could a man put the woman he loved at such mortal risk?

  Morgan lowered his head, wanting to pray, but knew there was no mercy for an abomination such as him. God had deserted him long ago, high in that Balkan mountain.

  Fenris nosed at his hand again, pulling Morgan's eyes from the moon. As his gaze drifted down, he caught sight of the ragged rocks on the canyon floor. Ignoring the dog's entreaties, he stepped closer.

  Sharp down there. Cruel, hard, unforgiving. A man's body would be speared on those rocks, torn to shreds so rapidly no supernatural power could stop it. A few small steps would end his misery forever.

  And leave Dana defenseless against Lily and her mewling lapdog.

  That gave him a moment's hesitation. Then he remembered the helicopter. True, it hadn't seen her, but surely people were searching. She had friends, family, had already been missing over three days. And he had locked away her winter gear. Without it, even she wouldn't attempt the hike down nor venture out in the cold night.

  Soon someone would come. In fact, he was the only one who truly threatened her safety.

  With a deep fortifying breath, Morgan took another step toward the lip of Ebony Canyon.

  * * *

  Dana squinted into the gloom, then hastily back-stepped as the heavy door began swinging closed. Just the idea of being trapped in that black cave sent her raw nerves into spasms.

  Why had Morgan built his bedroom without windows? What's more, how could he abandon the warm, comfortable main room to spend time in that barren cell? While she pondered these questions, she got a the kitchen and dragged it over to prop pen the door. It took a few minutes. to find a position in which the heavy door couldn’t push it away, and still she couldn't fathom Morgan's choices.

  By the time she'd finally wedged the chair between the door and its frame, her hands had grown sweaty and she was thinking about how soon he might return.

  Wiping her damp palms on her pant legs, she went in. Her eyes needed time to adjust to the dimness, so she hugged the wall and began inching along. She'd taken but a few steps when she felt a crunch beneath her feet. Something glowed in the diffused light and, as her night vision grew keener, she saw shards of glass, the skeleton of a lantern.

  Now she knew what she'd heard crash against the wall when Lily was in the room with Morgan. She wondered why he hadn't replaced it, how he saw in here without it, but she had no time for dwelling on that.

  She gazed around, able to see more clearly now, and took in a crude bed with a lumpy-looking mattress. An equally crude table sat beside it. She'd half hoped Morgan had simply dumped her clothes over his footboard, but the bed didn't even have one.

  So where were they? She scanned the room, finally coming across a freestanding wardrobe. Her nerves getting more ragged by the minute, she glanced over shoulder to check for Morgan. Reassured, she pulled the wardrobe's handles.

  The doors opened with a creak.

  After a skittish jump, she peered inside. Flannel shirts and denim pants hung from the rod, but she saw no jumpsuits or parkas. She looked down. On the floor of the wardrobe, shoved against one corner, was a pile of garments. She picked one up, pleased to find a jumpsuit, knowing her parka and boots had to be underneath. Kneeling, she pawed through the pile. Her hand touched the toe of a boot.

  Just then, a shuffling sound came from outside the cabin. She twisted toward the noise.

  The other door! She'd been so busy keeping an eye on the front one, she'd completely forgotten about it. The jumpsuit slipped from her hand. Springing up, she closed the wardrobe as quietly as her clumsy fingers allowed, then raced out of the bedroom, ne
arly stumbling as she shoved the chair away and pulled the door behind her.

  Just as it shut, she heard a lock turn.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Morgan propped open the door with a large rock, trying to get a hold on his murderous thoughts about Lily, but his loathing intensified, rising from deep within. The hair on his body bristled. A moan formed low in his throat.

  He sagged against the doorjamb as aches mounted in his body, combining with his raw emotions until he felt nearly overwhelmed. Gradually he willed his feelings away. His unwelcome alchemization ceased.

  Weakened by his efforts, Morgan staggered toward his bed and reached to ignite the lamp, then remembered it was no longer there. The broken pieces still lay where he'd swept them. One more reason to hate Lily.

  The solar power had finally failed, so he didn't even have that feeble light. Since the cold air was easier to bear than total darkness, he left the door propped open and flopped onto the bed to gaze forlornly at the water-stained ceiling. These women were driving him mad. Lily, with her ceaseless pursuit. Dana, with her continual defiance.

  One more step, that's all. One more, and he would have been plummeting toward the rocks of Ebony Canyon. But he'd remembered the unlocked door and knew Dana would eventually try it if he failed to return.

  He had stared into the canyon for quite a while after that, hearing it sing promises of release, knowing if he heeded them he'd be delivering Dana into mortal danger. Finally he'd wrenched himself away and called his dogs.

  Now his sigh of longing filled the shadows of his room. By returning, he’s fixed his fate—and Dana's. He couldn't continue to live this way, doomed to wander the nighttime forests, slithering on his belly through mud in search of some poor creature to destroy. Before Dana, he had managed to eke out a balance between his humanity and his beasthood, but since he'd kissed her . . .

  To again feel the half-remembered tenderness of a woman's touch had been too much. Now he couldn't abide another minute of this existence, much less seven more years.

  The Book foretold of a woman who would love him, redeem him, give him hope, the most terrifying emotion of all. But—as he'd asked himself so many times before—was Dana that one?

  He rocked abruptly upright and pulled two sheets of paper from his bedside stand.

  It was all there, delineated by arcane symbols inside page-sized circles divided into twelve sections. Her birth moon conjoined his own moon in Libra—sat right on top of it, in fact. Less than one degree away, her Venus conjoined both their moons. Unless she'd given him the wrong birth time, there could be no mistake. Heaven had sent her.

  May heaven also protect her.

  He sadly returned the charts to the drawer and fell back on the bed, idly wondering how it was that sorrow and remorse never triggered alchemization.

  Would he be feeling this way had he not grown to love her? It was a possibility. If her chart was false, she wouldn't last the night. The same physician's creed that prevented him from ever making his first kill might have also made him reluctant to risk her life.

  Loving made it worse. How easily he could reveal his true nature if she hadn't touched his heart. Instead he feared seeing revulsion in her eyes, having her turn away.

  His restless thoughts had him tossing on the lumpy bed, rolling right, rolling left. He tucked a pillow under his head, trying to get comfortable. His gaze drifted to the floor, wandering aimlessly, then coming to rest on a fallen article.

  A jumpsuit.

  He stared a moment, wondering how it got there, then rose and went to the wardrobe. When he opened the doors, he saw objects scattered across the entire bottom.

  So Dana had already been in his room. He'd probably surprised her before she'd been able to complete her task. He should have guessed she wouldn't simply sit around and let someone else decide her fate.

  The corners of his mouth curved up. If anyone could survive the Shadow of Venus, it was Dana. Even when she'd faced Lily, she'd continued fighting until all was obviously lost.

  Venus had sent the right woman.

  Her intrusion now gave him a perfect opportunity to reveal himself. When he left tonight, he'd leave the door unlocked again. Dana would come in. He was sure of it.

  For a brief instant, he let himself imagine how it would be, kissing her again, putting his lips on that long, slender neck, slowly disrobing her strong, slim body.

  No, he couldn't. Not only might he alchemize, but such intimate passion was meant for another time.

  In the meantime, he'd treat her like a queen. His romantic skills were rusty, but he supposed he still knew how. If she felt anything for him at all, anything, she'd find no reason to refuse him when this day was done.

  Almost dreamily, Morgan's hands came to rest on a large square box stored on the overhead shelf of the wardrobe. He lifted it down, carried it to the bed, and opened it.

  Yards of gauzy white billowed inside. He pulled out the dress, smoothing the folds as they fell. He could picture how Dana would look, her lithe body silhouetted by firelight inside the almost transparent fabric. She'd seem like Venus herself; rising on a seashell from the froth, reborn only to redeem him.

  Protected by love, they would endure the horrible and treacherous night. Morgan's bonds would be broken forever and Dana would be his.

  Unless . . .

  Unless, her chart was incorrect. Or, even worse, she turned from him in horror to run back and speak of his hideous secret.

  It was the one part of The Law he couldn't defy.

  No mortal could ever live to tell about them.

  * * *

  To Dana's surprise, Morgan came out of his room a changed and cheerful man. She'd grown used to the way he filled a doorway, so all she saw was the way the trim she'd given his hair and beard had altered his appearance. Gone was the raggedness of the night before. Now his dark waves fell softly to his collar, his beard was neat and tidy. She wondered if this was how he'd looked when he lived in the city, and though the change was pleasing, she also missed his wildness.

  Feeling suddenly self-conscious, sitting there while he smiled at her from the doorway, she became annoyed. How could he act as if nothing had happened?

  "The walk must have done you good," she said dryly. "Too bad I had no way to do the same."

  "It did." He wagged some clothing, which she'd previously noticed but had given scant attention to.

  "Your things." Pulling the door shut behind him, he walked to the daybed and deposited the items on the rail. "I owe you an apology." He gestured at the bed. "Do you mind?"

  "Go ahead." But her voice held little warmth.

  He sat beside her, leaving only inches of wrinkled blankets between them. She felt an irritating urge to move over, close the gap. Successfully ignoring it, she gave Morgan a blank gaze. "You were saying?"

  "You scared me last night. What if you'd been hurt or"—he flinched almost imperceptibly—"killed? I was angry and I didn't explain my reasons very clearly."

  Dana raised an eyebrow, rather enjoying his groveling. "You didn't explain them at all."

  "Sure, I di— Look, Dana, the first day after a storm stops is the most dangerous. The snow is unstable, avalanches are common—"

  "I know that! I was raised . . ." Dana grinned sheepishly. "I'm beginning to get repetitive, aren't I?"

  He returned the smile, sparking gold-green flashes in his eyes. Dana's peevishness melted, along with all desire to punish him.

  "I'll take you tomorrow, okay?" He reached over and stroked her cheek. "I only want to keep you safe."

  His eyes were so huge and beautiful. And they held such sincerity. How could she have doubted him? Since the moment he'd found her buried in the snowbank, he'd shown nothing but kindness and asked little in return. Just that she remain inside at night. Their few bad moments had been all her fault.

  Why hadn't she honored his request?

  "Okay." She leaned into his hand. It felt warm against her cheek, slightly rough and scratchy, an
d she savored even that. A long-denied need coiled low in her belly, wanting release.

  "You have such a sweet side." He touched one of her curls.

  "Sweet!" She pulled back. "No one's called me sweet since I was six years old!"

  He let his eyes flicker briefly down her body, then looked up with a grin: "In case you haven't noticed, you've grown up. What's wrong with being sweet?"

  "I, uh, I don't know." She turned her face away. Too much of Morgan's dazzling smile was, well, too much. "It's so . . . so insipid."

  Morgan let out a bellow of a laugh and Dana stared in astonishment. He'd never behaved this way before. So hearty—and bold! Except for that one tender kiss, he'd kept his sexuality well under wraps.

  "Insipid?" He laughed again. "Never fear, Dana, if there's anyone who doesn't fit that word, it's you."

  He took her hands and stood, pulling her up with him. Dana's heart skipped a beat, her belly tightened in anticipation.

  "Come on," he said. "Let's exercise the dogs." As he turned to hand over the jumpsuit, Dana tried to tell herself she wasn't disappointed.

  * * *

  Glad to be free of the wind and blowing snow, the team romped on the frost-hardened snow, eagerly chasing the bones that Morgan had gotten from the smokehouse. Occasionally, one of them hit a soft patch, sank down, then scrambled back up, emerging, with a snow-covered head that made it look like it was wearing a cap. Each occurrence brought shared laughter, and Dana found she enjoyed Morgan's rare laugh more than she enjoyed her own.

  As she made yet another throw, Odin bumped her, causing the bone to fly straight up in the air. Simultaneously, Odin and Aphrodite leaped for it, and collided, falling right on top of her. Aphrodite's weight hit Dana's shoulder full force and she staggered back.

  "Whoa!" Morgan tried to catch her as she fell, but they both tumbled to the ground, along with the dogs. The four of them ended up rolling in the snow, which was wet and squishy and cold. Some of it crept into the gap at Dana's wrist and some seeped down her neck.